Applied Defence Against Dark Arts
by Sly Hufrawgry
Summary: Scorpius M. and Albus P. have to combine forces in order to fight off a dark curse. post-Epilogue, humorous, next generation fic.


Disclaimer #1: This story is based on characters and situations created by Joanne Kathleen Rowling. Harry Potter and other trademarks are owned by Joanne Kathleen Rowling and by various publishers including but not limited to Carlsen Verlag GmbH, Bloomsbury Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Disclaimer #2: The lyrics are quoted from the song "You Are The Sunshine Of My Life" by Stevie Wonder.

Crockywock beta read the fic for me. :) Thank you, Crocky!

Scorpius M. and Albus P. have to combine forces in order to fight off a dark curse.  
Enjoy!

* * *

Applied Defence Against Dark Arts

- - -

Scorpius sat in a hole. The walls were steep and high, and that was bad.

He conjured up a rope ladder. He normally didn't know how to do that, but he did it anyway. How to put the ladder up he did know – he had first to use a Banishing and then a Sticking Charm – which was probably the reason why it didn't work under the circumstances.

He gave up after several futile attempts and sat back. The curse would just take its usual course...

- - -

After only a little while, someone peered down at him.

Scorpius allowed himself a very small sigh of relief. The scenario could definitely have been worse.

"Hey," Albus Severus Potter called, "How did you get down there?"

"I don't know," Scorpius said. "It wasn't explained."

"What do you mean _It wasn't explained_?" Albus asked, mildly puzzled.

"Well, it's a _Plot Hole_, and they are never explained. Writers come up with them when they don't have _real_ ideas."

"Yeah, I've heard about them: Dark Magic of the nastiest sort. Would be about time the Wizengamot outlawed them," Albus said. "The victims are stuck in the most impossible situations until these horrible thingummies turn up."

"Self-Inserts, yes," Scorpius said. He suppressed a shudder. "But I believe I've been lucky. I think I was only hit with a mild form, and it's the Most-Unlikely-Person-In-The-World who has to rescue me."

"Hey, that could be me!" Albus said, swinging his legs over the rim of the hole. "I'd be unlikely enough, don't you think? My dad is the popular Boy-Who-Triumphed-Over-Voldemort and yours is a disgraced Ex-Death Eater. Err... no offence."

"None taken."

"I'm also a brave and noble Gryffindor and you're a filthy Slytherin."

"Well, I guess," Scorpius said slowly. He scowled at his robes. There was no doubt about him being filthy. "Do you think I'm a git?"

"Well... Slytherins are gits by definition, aren't they? But I will have to conclude that you're not quite that bad before I decide to rescue you... Here, I think I have it: Your father's deeds are not your fault because... err, because you hadn't been born yet when he committed them!"

"Sounds like a brilliant stroke of genius." Scorpius paused and shook his head. "No, that is not what I'm supposed to say. Maybe, 'Oh, a brainy Gryffindor! Who would have thought?' – That's more like it, right?"

"Dunno," Albus said uncertainly. "You should probably say something along the line of _compassion is weakness_."

"You know what? I don't care! I'm utterly fed up with this story. I just want to get out of that muddy pit!"

"That's good," Albus beamed. "Slytherin selfishness – that'll always do the trick. Now throw me that rope ladder; I'll catch."

"Just make sure you hold on fast to something, inept Gryffindor that you are!"

"Shut up, stupid Slytherin, and throw!"

It worked, if only at the seventh go. Scorpius felt pretty exhausted when he crawled out of the hole. His robes were caked in clay.

"Is my hair dishevelled?" he asked.

Albus Severus Potter, who seemed tired as well, looked him up and down.

"Yes," he said at long last. "You look awful. There is clay all over your robes, your hair is smeared with it, and a small lump of clay sits right on your nose. There are also grass stains."

"Great. The full monty," Scorpius muttered to himself. Aloud, he said, "Do you think my uncharacteristically messy appearance is sexy?"

Albus pulled a face.

"I had hoped you wouldn't bring _that_ up."

"Sorry, but that is how the curse works. I have to be grateful for the rescue and, therefore, I have to give myself to you willingly."

"Oh, honestly, you are _male_!"

"I'm grateful you noticed. But that doesn't solve the problem."

"We're just supposed to do something together that is highly unlikely. It says nowhere this something has to be sex. So maybe we can be a bit more creative than the writer who hexed you thought we would be."

"Any suggestions?" Scorpius asked. He was getting impatient. "Look, I'm hungry. I would also like to take a hot bath..."

"No, stop that! Talking about hot baths will provide the wrong sort of mental image!"

"But I'm getting more annoyed by the second," Scorpius complained.

"Are you talking about inexplicable longing, disturbing urges, and growing frustration?"

Scorpius thought this to be a pretty accurate description of the strange uneasiness that had crept over him.

"How do you know?" he asked suspiciously.

"Oh, blast!" Albus exclaimed. "That isn't just _Plot Hole_. You've also been hit by _Cliché_!"

"Oh, I'm so doomed..." Scorpius pulled his hair with both hands, dishevelling it a bit more.

"No wait, don't get all worked up about it. My dad taught me a really nifty spell. _Finite Incantatem_!"

Nothing happened.

"_Finite Incantatem_!" Albus repeated.

Still nothing happened.

"You can as well give up," Scorpius said. "Canon spells are no use against _Plot Hole_."

"No, probably not," Albus conceded. "So, what _can_ we do?"

"Snog?"

Albus snorted.

"Any other ideas?" Scorpius demanded. The combined force of the two spells already made him believe that Albus had attractively broad shoulders, and that he moved them in an interesting way, and that they would probably be even more interesting if the prat took his robes off...

Albus startled him out of his musings, saying, "We could go and sing _You Are The Sunshine Of My Life_ beneath the headmistress's window."

"What kind of song is that?"

"It's Muggle. My aunt Hermione is Muggleborn and she owns a CD-player-"

"You want me to perform a _Muggle chant_?" Scorpius interrupted, scandalised. "Sod off! I am a Pureblood of noblest descent. I will never stoop to something as degrading as that!"

"See? That's exactly the point! It's completely crazy and highly unlikely and all that. You have always thought you would never ever do some such thing, and that's why it will break the spell. Look, we have to beat them at their own game, those writers who fling wicked curses at innocent people!"

Scorpius considered this. His father would be very upset should he learn about him singing Muggle chants, but maybe less so than if he had to learn about his only son having an affair with the Most-Unlikely-Person-In-The-World. In respect to the song, he could always claim they only ever sang it to annoy the hell out off their daft headmistress.

"There is an obstacle, though," he said after some more pondering. "I do not know the song."

"That can be helped," Albus said brightly and conjured up a sheet of written music complete with lyrics. He normally didn't know how to do that, but he did it anyway. "Here you are!"

Scorpius memorised the song while they walked to the castle. He knew it by heart by the time they arrived beneath the windows that belonged to the headmistress's chambers.

They put _Sonorus_ Charms on themselves and started singing,

"YOU ARE THE SUNSHINE OF MY LIFE,

THAT'S WHY I'LL ALWAYS STAY AROUND,

YOU ARE THE APPLE OF MY EYE..."

Soon, a window opened, and a clearly disapproving headmistress looked out.

"Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, you'll stop your inappropriate behaviour this instant!"

"HOW COULD SO MUCH LOVE BE INSIDE OF YOU?" they sang on.

"That is detention for both of you, then!" the witch shouted. "Next Saturday, at 6 a.m. and don't you dare be late!"

Without stopping to sing, Albus broke into a wide grin and nudged Scorpius playfully. Scorpius didn't quite understand what was so great about getting detention – scheduled for an unreasonably early time on a weekend day no less – but kept singing.

The headmistress glowered down at them.

"Wait," she said with sudden suspicion, "that is what you are up to! You want detention! You want detention _together_, preferably one to be served in a secluded place where you can indulge in certain lecherous activities without being disturbed. Ha, generations of students have tried that before! I will not be fooled – you, Mr Potter will serve detention with Professor Humptydumpty, and you, Mr Malfoy, with Professor Flitwick!"

With that, the window slammed shut.

Albus threw a fist into the air and roared, "YEAH, IT WO-" Startled by the thunderclap-like sound of his own voice, he broke off and hastened to undo the _Sonorus_ Charms.

"Good, we don't have detention together, which means that there are no potentially dangerous situations in our near future," he then said. "And how do you feel? Still any urges?"

"Yes, I feel the urge to do something about the rumbling noises my stomach makes."

"I guess we're safe," Albus laughed. "If you can think about food, things will be fine!"

"Yes, it worked," Scorpius said. "Thanks, Albus. I owe you one."

"Not at all. See you around."

Scorpius nodded curtly. He turned and rushed off to the Slytherin dungeons where he would have a nice, relaxing bath with a lot of bubbles in.

- - -

The writer gaped in utter disbelief at the screen, pressed Ctrl+A, and reached for the delete button.

But Albus Severus Potter was faster; he wasn't the son of the Boy-Who-Triumphed-Over-Voldemort for nothing. He spun round, raised the wand he had held at the ready, and shouted, "Control S!"

- End -


End file.
